Prince of Persia: The Falling of the Sands
by Lord22
Summary: The myth begins anew. Once again the sands in the hourglass as the Princess awaits a traveler to ascend from the dungeons and save her. But the world has shifted, and if the Vizier is victorious this time, far more than Persia shall fall. And the would-be Prince is from the Kingdom of Jerusalem...
1. The Call to Adventure

**Chapter One: The Call to Adventure**

Past the threshold of the ordinary world, the travelers found only wasted and dying lands. The farther they traveled beyond the Last Oasis of Jerusalem, the harder their journey became. Water became more and more scarce, and despite Felix's management of their provisions, they were thirsty and hungry. The run-in with the Mongols had robbed them of their companions and horses, and it seemed more and more likely they would come to a bad end.

Nevertheless, they pressed and came to the Foothills of Cyrus. Here they chanced upon a spring and drank deeply. After they filled their waterskins, William washed his long flaxen hair and toned body of the sand and grime as best he could. Felix did the same, and finally, they rested at the edge of that supposedly magical realm.

Felix's red eyes looked at William keenly as he sharpened his sword. His long, black hair had grown out over the journey, and he had a fresh scar above his dark brow. William matched his gaze as he checked his own weapon.

"William, what are we doing in the land of Sharaman?" asked Felix suddenly.

William sighed, though he admitted that Felix's words mirrored his doubts. "Felix, you were there when we made this decision."

"We didn't make any decision, William," said Felix, raising the sword. "You decided you wanted to come over here to the legendary palace of a god. So I followed.

"I'm just your shadow, remember?"

Ah, the Shadow.

That was what Father's men had taken to calling Felix. They'd grown up together in the lands of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. It was a title Felix seemed to at once dislike and embrace. Once they'd been far closer before William had taken on the responsibilities of adulthood.

They had been inseparable for years. But William was always the one who spoke, while Felix remained to the side. Always ready to tell William what he needed to hear, or scurry away into the night to deliver a message.

"The palace is of no interest to me, Felix," admitted William. "And it isn't a god out there.

"Sharaman is nothing more than the barbarian god of a heathen culture. At best, he's likely a demon who led the people astray. Or perhaps he was merely their interpretation of Christ before we arrived."

"Yes, I'm certain the slaughter at Jerusalem did much to endear the locals to the faith," noted Felix. Felix was of noble blood, perhaps nobler among his own people than William. And yet whatever titles he had held were destroyed amidst the slaughter of Jerusalem. His life was only spared because of Father's pity.

"Father tried to reign that in," said William, remembering a thousand different muttering about economic policy. "And if it hadn't been God's will, he would have succeeded.

"And anyway, that all happened before you or I were born."

"It happened on the day I was born, actually," said Felix.

"Oh, yes, well, I was near enough the mark," said William, standing up and looking the way they'd come. He could see nothing but sand and crags, save perhaps the faintest bits of green in the distance. How far had they come in so short a time? It was like they were in a different world. "Anyway, this is all beside the point. Sharaman, as he is portrayed in the legends, did not exist. It's most likely that he was an accomplished war leader inspired by God, who was later exaggerated to being a god.

"Much as what happened with Thor and Odin. They were great heroes inspired by God, and demons deceived people into worshipping them as Gods. Just read the Heliand." Father had always obsessed over education.

Felix scoffed. "Alright, so let's say that all this is true. Why are we looking for the palace?"

William shifted, admitting to himself that he was wearing at least some masks. "...I want to see the place, to be honest. I've always loved ancient architecture. You remember the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem? And also, this land has become incredibly barren and hostile, and no much can understand why."

"I remember, William," said Felix. "I was there in the border village with you when you were told that. And that happened after you decided to go."

"Why have you been complaining so much lately, Felix?" asked William, losing patience.

"We've had nothing but bad luck since we started this journey, William," said Felix. "That caravan we tagged along with was attacked by Mongols in the crags. And the ones who weren't killed there were wiped out by a sandstorm.

"It's a miracle we survived at all."

"And that miracle would not have happened if God did not have some greater purpose for us here," said William, looking to his cross. "Therefore we ought to continue on."

"Or, perhaps, God wanted you to stay away from whatever it is that sits near those ruins," noted Felix.

"If so, he would surely have sent us a sign," replied William.

"Is the sandstorm and ambush by Mongols not sign enough?" asked Felix.

"That might be a good argument if there wasn't a greater threat here," said William. "But there is.

"All kinds of droughts have been spreading throughout the surrounding lands in the past few years. Several Oasis have disappeared in my lifetime. And when I checked the records, it said that this has been happening for generations.

"Babylon has had a radius of blight spreading out from it for generations. As if some demon is cursing the place. If there really is something out here, we ought to drive it out."

"So why not bring a priest?" asked Felix.

"I..." Father did not trust the church not to botch everything. He'd held a deep loathing for the Pope ever since he'd journeyed to Rome. William remembered stories of vast palaces built over starving beggars. "Well, I admit, I received a vision some days before we set out. I saw an... indescribably beautiful maiden, and she bade me come to her rescue, alone."

"You want to see the Princess don't you?" asked Felix suddenly.

"Of course not," said William, too quickly for his own liking. "It's obvious that the Princess doesn't really exist, or not as they imagine her. But I'd been thinking about coming out here to see what was going on and I'd just put it from my mind.

"Then she appeared.

"Visions don't happen for no reason. I think she might have been an angel, and when I spoke with the Bishop, he agreed. So, here I am alone."

Felix blinked. "...You know I'm standing right here, don't you?"

William smiled. "You're my shadow, you don't count."

Felix actually laughed at that, and William found himself joining in. "Right, right, obviously. I suppose you'll need me if we run into any more Mongols."

"I more than accounted for myself in that battle," replied William. "And I got myself out."

"No, I led them into quicksand while we were running from them," said Felix. "That does not count as 'getting yourself' out of anything."

"I killed three of them before our retreat," said William. "And I only did so after the rest of them had fled." Looking at his own, black sword, William turned it around and sheathed it. "In any case, traveling through dark and unknown territory alone is pure idiocy. I'm certain Lord Jesus will forgive me for taking a partner. Even he needed disciples, after all."

They rested for a time, ate a brief meal, and continued their journey. Scaling through the rocky hills, they found themselves heading gradually higher. The terrain got rough, and they had to scale by hand and foot at several points. Even so, they pressed on, following maps that William had brought.

At last, they came to the top.

William stood at the edge of the last hill and saw a vast palace before them. It had immense domes, and the towers soared into the sky, higher than the hills. There were wide windows on the towers and huge walls. And though they were ages old, it was as pristine and beautiful as though it had been built yesterday.

"That..." William shut his jaw. "Is that the castle?"

"It... it can't possibly..." Felix shuddered. "Krak Des Chevalierswas a fraction of this thing's size! How could any mortal man create such a thing! God himself would sweat to set one of those stones on top of another!"

"God cannot be tested," said William. "Let's see what we can find."

Down they journeyed into the foothills and toward the castle. Yet as they drew nearer to the hill on which it stood, William began to realize something. It was much farther away than he'd thought. And the hill it took upon was no hill at all but a mountain. Higher and higher, it loomed over them so that soon they could hardly see the top when they craned their neck. The morning light yielded to afternoon and then dusk, and still they had not reached it.

And yet the land here was dead.

Before, there were signs of life, here and there. Stray patches of grass, of lizards, but not here. Every stone was barren of moss. Not one tree could be seen in any direction. No one had lived in this place for ages.

With every step, William became more and more overawed. This place...

He almost believed it would take a god to make it. For what ruler could waste this kind of resources on so huge a structure. An army of ten thousand men could not line the walls of this place. How was it possible that no one had found this place?

And yet, though he felt terror, his legs seemed to move of his own accord. Some presence drew him and Felix on. Neither one said a word, but they, at last, had reached the gates.

The greatest of siege weapons could not have dented this defense. And it stood tall and shut.

"... We'll have to climb it to get inside," said William. "I doubt anyone will answer if we knock."

"Perceptive, are you not." said a guttural voice. "You've made a powerful enemy."

William and Felix whirled around, drawing their swords and froze at what they saw. Before themappeared six men. But these men were not alive. Their flesh was pale and preserved as if with salt like the Egyptians did of old. Their eyes were flaring with light, and they wore fine silken garments, bearing long, curved swords.

Just looking at them made William's body freeze. Felix had fallen to one knee, gasping, and it was all William could do to gaze upon them. His mind was a chamber of screaming as more of the things came from around. But he kept his composure and kept his sword up.

"Stand up, Felix," said William, wanting to cower, but refusing to so degrade his house. "The dead walk among us. Who are you? And what have we done to bring your enmity?"

Forward came an immense corpse, thicker of body and also fatter, but carrying a huge sword. "I am the Captain of the Guard, and you have won the heart of the Princess. Since she remains the only obstacle to Lord Jaffar's plans, that leaves you in an unfortunate position.

"Take them."

The dead surged forward. William swung his sword, but they came at him all at once. Born down by their freezing hands, William's sword was pulled from his grasp. Struggling against their unholy strength, he was overcome and captured.

* * *

The myth began again.

The Princess looked around her royal chambers, so familiar and so lonely. For so long, she had waited for so many heroes. And yet, each one had, in one way or another, proved unworthy in the pursuit. Even so, she appreciated their efforts, and by the very act of trying, they ensured the war went on.

Every one of them were heroes.

But none just yet had been her Prince.

As he always did, Jafar came through the door. The Princess turned to him as he walked forward. He alone of the mortals within this place was not a corpse. Once he had been very handsome, but those days were ancient and long past. His beard was gray now, and the violet trappings of royalty did not become him.

"Jaffar, you've returned." said the Princess.

She had high hopes for this particular hero.

"Yes, I have," said Jafar, smiling politely. "Yet more sacrifices have arrived to be cast into oblivion. I had hoped you'd see reason after all this."

"See reason?" asked the Princess. "You've drained the very life out of the lands around us to fuel your power. Surely you must realize that your self-destructive actions will only bring ruin to yourself and others.

"It wounds me to see you so consumed by pride and hubris."

Jafar narrowed his eyes. "You are not one to speak, Princess. I must prevent any more heroes from casting their lives into your fire. At the rate I was killing them before I drained the life, I've probably saved more lives than I've ended.

"And I will need an army when you submit to me at last.

"Even now, the flow of heroes is gradually slowing. And I am already Lord of this World."

"But not all worlds." said the Princess, feeling sorry for him. His pride had truly blinded him. "You haven't won the wager yet, Jaffar. And so you do not have my hand. So long as there remains a hero to stand against you, the battle continues to wage."

"And so we begin again," said Jaffar, voice laced with contempt. And he moved his hands outward. As he did, the Princess stepped backward as the hourglass appeared. "Marry me, or die within the hour."

She wasn't actually afraid of him anymore. Her actions were a reflex, almost a formality. But Jaffar turned to walk away. "You'll never receive your answer, Jaffar. It's in the nature of this world to fail."

Jaffar halted and looked back. "Truly?

"Well then, let me ask you this. How many more must die in the vain hope of becoming Prince of Persia?"

As many as was necessary, of course. They were the heroes, after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Prince of Persia is one of the greatest video game series of all time, and I don't say that lightly. Sands of Time was the first Prince of Persia game I ever played and it was magnificent in every sense of the word. And, now that I've just finished the original game, I've come to realize something.

Prince of Persia is, fundamentally, a mythology.

The original game is the prototype for every single good Prince of Persia.

To illustrate my point, which game am I describing?

The Prince is thrust into a situation beyond his control. He must seek out a weapon of some kind in order to defeat his enemies. He then goes on a journey to save a Princess and comes into conflict with an evil Vizier who is also a sorcerer. Eventually, he fights the Vizier, kills him, saves the Princess, and restores peace to the land.

Which game am I describing?

Well, I can list the ones I'm not describing. Warrior Within and the 2008 Prince of Persia. I.E, the ones that killed the franchise.

This is not to say that innovation cannot be good. Sands of Time is, fundamentally, the same story as the original Prince of Persia. And yet it is regarded as incredibly creative. It looks at the story from a different perspective and gives names and faces to characters. The Shadow becomes the Dark Prince, the Princess becomes Farah. The hourglass becomes the Hourglass of Time.

Which brings me to this fic.

This fic is not meant to be a subversion or a deconstruction of Prince of Persia. My goal is to make dark reinvention of that myth while also serving as a legitimate novelization of the original game. For context, my version of Prince of Persia is the one with the blonde, european hero.


	2. The Dungeons of Jaffar

**Chapter Two: Dungeons of Jaffar**

When William came to, he was being dragged by the arms through a hall by two corpses. For a moment he lay still, looking around for Felix. His sword and armor were gone, and he was clad in fine, white silks. Pulling himself up, he slammed a leg against one of the guards. Yet even as he struck it, he felt the strength drain from him.

One of them slammed him in the stomach as they dragged him to a portcullis. It pulled up before them, and William was thrown downward. "In, you worthless Gaul."

William landed in a crouch and glanced up. "I, sir, am English."

The guards turned and walked away without a word.

Willliam stood up and examined his cell. It was...

Strange.

Most cells were a single room of stone, with a bed if the Lord was a kind one. Usually with straw on the floor for heat. Yet there was no straw here, and no bedding. It was also meticulously clean, no dust or smell. No mold or dripping water. Nothing that showed this place had ever been lived in.

Perhaps it never had?

And that was far from the strangest thing.

Fix feet away from William was a sheer drop. Moving to the edge, he saw it led to a lower room that could have been a cell itself. But it was a dead-end, though he could probably get down there if he tried. Instead, he put his hands in the silken white garments he'd been dressed in and paced.

"Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, William," said William. "At the very least, now you know why God called you to this place. Walking corpses, speaking, and throwing people into dungeons is not natural.

"What to do?

"Well, I suppose I ought to escape from this place first of all.

"But how-"

"The escape from the cell is the easy part, actually." said a voice.

William looked up to the cell door where it came from, but he saw no one. Only a mouse. "Who are you? Show yourself."

"I am." said the mouse. "It's me?" That was a scholarly voice for a rodent. "I am Nicodemus, the personal servant of the Princess. I've been sent on her behalf to explain the rules."

And he leaped down into the cell. William stared at the mouse and almost said that mouses couldn't talk. However, it would be beneath his dignity to admit to ignorance, so he simply focused on what was said. "Rules? What are you talking about."

"You have wandered onto a divine battlefield, young man," said Nicodemus. "One that has its roots in ages past, far before the rise of Rome.

"You have won the heart of the Princess, you see. And that means you have to save her."

William took this into account. The guard had mentioned something about that, had he not? Still, that seemed... unlikely. "I've never even seen this Princess. How could I have won her heart, and what does this... nevermind. Explain." Never admit ignorance.

"You received the dream, didn't you?" asked Nicodemus.

"Yes," said William, deciding to change the subject. "Where is Felix?"

"At present, I expect he's in the dungeon as well, awaiting his own chance," said Nicodemus. "This palace is massive and extends to many times and places. It'll be his turn next."

"I did tell you to explain," said William simply.

"Oh very well, I suppose I'll say it all flat out," said Nicodemus. "The time doesn't officially start until you are ready, in any case. Our idea of an hour is very different from yours.

"Ages ago, when humankind was young and the gods already old, Sultan Sharaman Persia. Not Persia as you know it, but a Persia of dreams. The Kings who ruled over it were more numerous than the stars. The smallest of border forts make the palaces of kings today pale. And the metals, such strong and powerful ones. In those days, mankind was strong and not plagued by diseases or the sins like they once had.

"The glories of Rome at its height was akin to the most insignificant of hovels.

"And Sharaman was wise and powerful, strong in war. And his empire, the Empire of Dreams, spread far and wide.

"Until, at last, he marched to war against Alexander the Great.

"The war situation...

"Well, it developed not quite to his advantage. But what is important is what happened while the war was beginning. You see, Sharaman had by his side a Vizier who acted as his intermediary with the common people. The first of these was Cyrus the Great, and each Vizier was practically a king in his own right.

"Well, Jaffar was the latest, and he was also a son of Sharaman and a mortal woman.

"Left in charge while Sharaman marched to war, Jaffar seized control of Persia for himself. And he approached the Princess, Sharaman's only divine daughter, and gave her a choice. Marry him, or die within the hour. By this time, the Vizier had attained godlike power. For he had labored, seeking out forbidden knowledge and learning all the ways of darkness. So he was more than capable of making good on his threat."

William thought about how long those events took place ago. "...I imagine it has been rather more than an hour since the sands in the hourglass started descending. And I don't recall any stories of Alexander fighting Sharaman."

"Yes, it has," said Nicodemus. "And that's because humanity has phased those stories out. What is real is really what people acknowledge. With the passing of ages, Sharaman and his pantheon faded from your memories. They took on different forms.

"You see, Gods are not like you or I. They are not wholly bound within the confines of time and space. As a full-blooded god, the Princess had a deep connection to the spiritual realm. If Jaffar were to marry her, he would gain even greater power.

"Naturally, she would prefer death to submission.

"But she knew Jaffar knew this. And so she offered him a wager between immortals.

"You see, the Princess had long been friends with a young street rat. He was poor but goodhearted and highly athletic. A... diamond in the rough, if you will. And Jaffar had already locked him within the dungeons.

"The Princess then made a wager with Jaffar. He would give the youth in his dungeons a chance for victory. If the hour elapsed without him saving her, she would marry him. Jaffar was permitted to stack things against the young hero. He could use any and all methods, but there was one caveat.

"The hero must always have a fair chance of winning.

"Naturally, Jaffar agreed.

"And so the young street rat escaped and made his way up the many levels of the palace. He dodged numerous guards and, at last, came to the Princesses room. But Jaffar was in the way. Hefting a sword, the street rat rushed to face Jaffar in single combat and...

"Um...

"Well, the street rat had no idea how to use a sword and was a human, while Jaffar was a trained warrior. So, well..."

"The battle developed not quite to his advantage." guessed William. Never send a peasant to do a knights job.

"Yes, he was cut to ribbons quite brutally," said Nicodemus. "So then Jaffar naturally heads back to the Princess to collect his prize. But, then, he finds another hourglass. And it had only just begun.

"You see, the Princess is a god, and her love for even an acquaintance is far deeper than a mortal can have. So, she can look at virtually any good man or hero and be passionately and deeply in love with them. At least, for a mortal.

"In addition, she is a goddess of the spiritual plane. She can act in virtually any time and place. And so, even as the street rat was climbing, she'd arranged for a new would-be hero to arrive in this very dungeon. For you see, this palace is no longer aligned with your own world. Time doesn't pass the same way it does in your world.

"In one move, the Princess had trapped Jaffar. He had also given her a way to forestall his victory, and eventually gain victory herself.

"So it was that the great divine game began."

"What happened with Alexander?" asked William, who had studied enough to not believe everything he heard. "The Greeks say he ascended to Mount Olympus, or that he died of disease."

"Alexander the Great slew Sharaman and took his empire," said Nicodemus. "it was quite a spectacular victory. Lightning bolts were cast as spears; mountains were toppled. So dramatic we had to write it out of reality. Now we just say his Satrap, Bessus killed Great King Darius.

"Real things have to be kept mundane, I'm afraid. The truly great things happen in stories, during battles in the spiritual world. As far as your history is concerned, when he had finished his conquest of India, he entered this place. He began to scale the tower himself. He got as far as Jaffar himself and dueled him personally. It was a glorious battle, well worth a song if only anyone had been around to see it.

"Alexander nearly had Jaffar at his mercy. But, well, Alexander's old wounds reopened in the fight, and Jaffar struck him dead while he was reeling. Many others came as well, from all over, for the Princess calls out to heroes constantly.

"Of course, Jaffar has not been idle himself. All the guards of the palace were transformed into the haunted wights you saw before you. And, of course, he has learned to wield all kinds of black magic of the soul."

"But, where does this magic come from?"

"The land," said Nicodemus. "Every single guard and trap and a strange bit of architecture in this palace has been made with magic. All sorts of treacherous things are about, and they are achieved by draining the life from the land.

"That's why there are so many deserts in this region of the world. Jaffar drove out the people to fuel his power. By doing so, he also made vast regions of barrens that must be traversed for any would-be hero to arrive."

"Why not just render it so barren that no one could survive the journey?" asked William.

"That's just it!" said Nicodemus. "He has to give them a fair chance. And those aren't terms he can wriggle out of; it was a divine contract. And gods have to keep both the letter and the spirit of their oaths. Otherwise, Jaffar never should have made the bargain with the Princess, to begin with.

"But there is also our danger.

"If Jaffar ever did get the Princess to marry him, it would be an untold disaster. For one thing, he'd no longer be restrained from using his powers on the world at large. He'd likely try to build up a new empire, and I doubt anyone would like that. And that is to say nothing of the power he'd have if the Princess was his bride.

"He could influence anywhere at any time. His reach would extend to all times and places. All beliefs and desires.

"In a worst-case scenario, the world would become his plaything and we'd all be at his mercy."

"God would never allow such a thing to happen," noted William with confidence. Not unless humanity did something to truly deserve it, at least.

"That may very well be true," said Nicodemus. "Your God is one of the more reasonable of the deities I've dealt with. But even he works through agents, and who's to say that you are not his agent in this."

William paused. "Who are you? Are there other mice who... speak as you do?"

"None like me, no," said Nicodemus. "I am the speaker of our race. We are more intelligent than most, but I alone may speak your tongue. We are the Princess's companions and servants.

"Among... other duties."

William had half a mind to inquire about those. But he doubted the mouse wished to speak of them, and he had nothing to bargain with. "So you want me to rescue the Princess. What does that entail?"

"I want you to try," said Nicodemus, scurrying down to the lower level. William followed him, scaling down on the cold tiles. "No one is actually expecting you to succeed at this, Jaffar has gotten very good at making fair chances seem... unfair.

"But, with every guard you slay, every trap you avoid, the energy used to create it will be released. Some green will be restored to the lands he has taken it from. That will be a great help to many villagers, even if they never know your name. And it'll also pave the way for some future hero to try their luck."

"How comforting," said William. "What happens if I fail?"

Nicodemus eyed him. "Well, erm, there are actually two varieties of failure here. In one, you die. I... well, I expect I don't need to go on, do I?"

"Not really," admitted William. Death was a fairly simple matter; it was what happened after you had to worry about.

"In the other, you don't die, but the sands in the hourglass run dry," said Nicodemus. "If that happens, the wager is over. You've lost your chance to save the Princess. She won't be there, even if you get to the top, which you probably won't. Jaffar is likely to throw everything he has at you, once you run out of sands.

"You will no longer be afforded any protection, after all.

"In that case, well, you're free to leave, and the task moves over to the next hero. In this case, your companion, Felix. If both of you succeed in surviving without achieving the clock, well, you're free to go.

"But, in any case, you'll need to get out of the dungeon to make your escape. Jaffar isn't one to leave prisoners alive. So I wouldn't try running down the clock."

"Alright, so suppose I actually get to the top, defeat Jaffar and rescue the Princess?" asked William.

The mouse shifted. "Well then, you'll become Prince of Persia, I imagine."

"That title has no meaning to me, or anyone else," said William. "The Persian Empire ceased to exist ages ago. The damn Muslims finished them off after Severus did all the real work."

"Oh, yes, well, I can certainly see why the title wouldn't appeal," said Nicodemus. "But what you don't understand is that dreams and reality are both parts of the same ocean. Reality is the thing on the surface, but once you sink below the waves, it's all the same."

"Meaning?" asked William.

"The Princess is the ultimate boon," said Nicodemus. "The culmination of desire. The ultimate achievement. If you could but think of the benefits-"

"I'm not interested in the benefits, or in her," said William flatly. "I'll see to her rescue soon enough."

Nicodemus looked at him strangely. "But you-"

"Leaving a damsel in distress to her fate is something no chivalrous man can do," said William. "It is my obligation to do what I can to save her."

Nicodemus eyed him with what might have been an approving eye. "Right, excellent, well, the first thing you need to do is find your sword. Jaffar always leaves one around, unguarded, as part of the rules. Though there will be dangers, you don't need a sword to defeat. Once you have that, you'll need to defeat the threshold guardian.

"That's the one who makes sure nobody advances without a sword. Fair chance and all that."

"Well, as long as we're talking about fair chances, how do I get out of this cell?" asked William.

Nicodemus smiled and moved over to a tile. Tapping it twice, it shuddered. "Well now, that is a common question. One thing you should remember is that nothing in this place is exactly how it appears."

It was a secret passage and a fair chance.

Nicodemus looked back up. "Now, I must give the same terms to Felix, of course."

William turned around and slammed a foot onto the tile. It caved inward, falling to the ground and shattering. Then he leaped down.

"Mind the fall-" began Nicodemus.

But William landed in a crouch. One of his feet hurt a great deal, but he forced himself to stand anyway. So what if he had twisted it, the flesh was nothing.

"Oh, well, too late," said Nicodemus. "Either way, I can't help with anything else. Good luck to you and please, be careful. A lot of people are counting on you to restore their dying lands."

William raised a hand and clenched it. It was time to rescue a Princess.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

It's somewhat ironic that the Prince is regarded as an Arabian hero. While it is appropriate, his original depiction was fair-haired and European. He even uses a straight sword, in marked contrast to the bad guys. As long as I was trying to reinvent the myth of Prince of Persia, I decided to make the Prince a Crusader.

In doing so, I can make a plot point out of an art inconsistency.

Oh, next time you play, pretend every single time you die in Prince of Persia, that is some other poor adventurer. A guy who was killed before he could make it any further to get to the Princess. All of a sudden, the story becomes a heck of a lot darker.


	3. The Finding of the Sword

**Chapter Three: The Finding of the Sword**

There were two directions within the passage that William could go. Left and right. Torches were burning on the walls, but on closer examination, there was now fuel. Flames were simply burning atop metal bars. By the light, William could perceive above him the faint light of the cell. But there was no way to scale back up that he could see.

And he was unarmed.

"Well, here we are," said William, looking at his hands. Then he looked right and saw a broken set of stairs. Someone had, evidently, taken a sledgehammer to them. Where the top had once been, there was a door, but it was shut tight by a portcullis. "The door over there is closed tight, so that leaves only one way forward."

So William turned and made his way left. As he did, he felt the cold on his bare arms bitterly. This outfit he wore seemed like something worn for weddings. Rather than practical acrobatics, though it was reasonably loose.

Then, as he walked, he halted and saw something.

Before William was a corpse, clad in a white outfit, much like he was. The man looked about four years William's age, perhaps twenty, and his blood was soaking the floor. He had short blonde hair, and his eyes were wide. Yet even before William's eyes, his flesh was going pale.

Then William looked into the dark and saw the guard.

He wore brown garb and held a curved blade before him. Even now, he was advancing, eyes narrowed. William stepped back as the guard jabbed at him. "Turn back, hero. You are not worthy to enter the domain above. Come further forward, and you shall be destroyed."

"You would be the threshold guardian, then," said William. He noted the guard had stopped advancing.

"I am." said the guard.

"Who was that man?" asked William.

"He was a man from Antioch, and he sought to save the Princess." said the guard. "Captured and cast into your cell, he escaped and ran headlong into my blade. Now he is a corpse, awaiting his judgment for eternity.

"Come forward, and you will join him."

"I think I'd rather not," said William. "Is uh, is there a guide to this palace by chance?"

"No," said the guard.

William nodded. "I thought not. Farewell."

And he quickly raced off. As he did, he thought to himself. "Well, that man was awfully friendly for an undead abomination. I suppose I ought to check the gate. Perhaps I can lift-"

Even as he came near the broken stair, he accidentally stepped on what must have been a pressure plate. The floor slid down and the gate slid open slowly. William nodded. "Convenient.

"Very convenient. No matter."

Moving up to the base of the gate, he took hold of the top and began to scramble up. It had been some time since the days when he and Felix scaled the castle walls together. Still, he had kept those muscles in place, and now he pulled himself over the top. Even so, his foot hurt him as he did so.

Yet as he came up, he moved along the floor, only to nearly fall into a vast pit. Looking down, he saw a vast bed of spikes below. And on them were many corpses impaled on them, with expressions of agony. A chill went over William. Every single one of them wore white garments, as if for a wedding, now stained with blood.

Still, no time to mull over things.

Backing up a bit, William got a running start and leaped over the pit. The landing hurt his foot, but he moved on anyway. He'd have to walk the pain off. But there was another gate before him. A grinding noise suddenly reached his ears. William looked back to see the gate he'd come through closing.

Perhaps there was another pressure plate here.

Moving back along the floor, he noticed a tile sticking up just a bit. Stepping on it, he pressed it down. Sure enough, the portcullis began to rise behind him, and he made for it, ducking under it as it did.

"The mouse made it seem as if my presence was special, somehow." murmured William. "But the clothes on those corpses had not rotted away at all. Yet they themselves were skeletal.

"Though the one I saw before, he became as those guards very quickly."

Coming to the edge, he found another drop. This time, however, there was a floor not far below he was able to lower himself onto. Over a large gap, he could see another portcullis. And in the gap, he saw even more white-clad corpses. Some of them were actual skeletons, having rotted to nothingness.

How many people had stood in this very part, made the jump, and then failed? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? This place... it was a place beyond time wasn't it?

What had motivated them?

What had driven so many young men, his age and older, to cast aside their lives? Had they a choice? Of course, they'd probably been drawn here by the Princess. Yet William wondered if she did not play more the role of a siren, luring men to their doom.

No matter.

Turning, he walked under the platform he'd been standing other and found another tile. Pressing it down, he heard the grinding of gears. Whirling around, William made another sprint and leaped over the gap. For a moment, he was flying through the air over the corpses and spikes and then...

He would miss it! He'd jumped too early!

Reaching out, William grasped the edge of the tile and caught himself. Pulling himself up, he saw the door slowly closing. Sprinting forward, he rolled under it and came to a halt. For a moment, he stood beyond the door, breathing hard at a crouch. Looking down, he saw a tile to open.

William pressed down the tile, and the door slid open behind him.

So, there was a way out. Good.

Rising up, William straightened his tunic and moved forward. As he did, his foot hurt more and more. If he waited, he'd never get out of here. But if he went on like this, he'd tear a muscle. All paths were terrible for him at this rate.

Why had he dragged Felix out here? Had he thought he'd fare any better.

No, no, William would succeed where others had failed. He was a Christian for one thing, where they had, for the most part, been pagans. Yes, God would be his strength.

And then he felt the floor beneath him lurch. William sprinted on instinct, and the floor fell away. Making a leap, he ended up near the edge of a drop. With a glance back, William saw that the floor of the hall had given way. So he fell to one knee. His foot was hurting all the worse now.

Then he felt something, a pull that drew him down. Scaling down to the floor, he turned and saw that the base of the pit was within climbing distance. Lowering himself down, William heard a shuddering as he did. Looking up, he saw an alcove in the wall. Moving toward it, he saw a loose tile. It was cracked and weak. Bringing down one foot, he smashed it, before lowering himself down.

Then he smelled the aroma.

It was truly beautiful to the senses, and he was drawn forward into a passage. There was a drop, and he saw beyond many corpses. But looking down, he saw a gourd. It lay on the ground, with red steam coming off it. Raising it, the smell of it eased his aches and pains.

Upon the yellowish surface, he saw many designs. It showed a woman with the lower body of a serpent giving potions to soldiers who were wounded. They drank of these potions and around to full life, before marching to battle her enemies again. Something told William that this potion would heal his injuries.

He had half a mind to regard it as lies.

Then again, at this rate, he'd die no matter what happened without healing. A calculated risk was necessary. "This could be a trap, but then, I doubt any man could be expected to fight through legions of undead.

"Not without some way to heal their wounds.

"With this injury, I'll never make it to the surface, let alone all the way up. I'll chance it."

And so William drank of the potion. As he did, the red liquid poured into his throat. His muscles tensed for a moment as he swallowed. Then the aches and pains disappeared, even pains that he'd never known he'd had. Looking at himself, William felt new strength enter him.

"Supernatural aid indeed," said William.

Then, thanking God for the victory, William scaled out and continued on his way.

He'd not gone far along the passageway when he came to an area with another gate. This time the pressure plate was in clear sight. So, naturally, he did not like it. Moving forward, William pressed down the plate and sprinted over the hall. Even as he did, however, one of his feet pressed onto another plate.

As it did, the gate slammed shut.

Typical, really. William should have known nothing would be so easy. Turning back, he walked toward the way back. He supposed he'd have to open the gate and then leap over the-

Oh damn, part of the floor had fallen away while he was running. And it was right next to the switch that shut the door. So William would have leap over yet another bottomless pit and do it in such a way that he cleared the switch as well.

Backing up a bit, William sprinted forward and leaped over the gulf. Landing on the switch in what he assumed was divine providence, he turned and sprinted back. Waiting for the last possible moment, William leaped from the edge. He cleared the switch where others failed, landing in a roll. As the gate opened, he grabbed ahold of the ledge and hauled himself up.

Triumphant, he rose and found himself looking at...

Another bottomless pit.

"What madman designed this place?" asked William, having half a mind to quit.

A reassuring presence, however, drove him to continue. It wasn't as if he could just walk out at this point anyway, short of jumping to his death. Pacing back a bit, William sprinted forward and made another leap. This time he made it. Checking down, he saw that there were still more corpses, though not as many as last time.

Apparently, most people who got this far did better afterward.

Rather like getting to the age of nine.

Walking forward-

The floor fell out from under him. Twisting in midair, William was able to land on all fours, but his hand was nicked on the rubble. Still, there seemed to be a passage leading, and a presence drew him on, assuring him this way was better. William wondered if this presence was mere madness on his part.

Still, if it was madness, it was frighteningly accurate.

It turned out that had he gone the high way, he'd have had to scale down by hand and foot.

And there is lay.

The sword he had been promised. Scaling down, William moved forward and saw it, held in the grip of a skeleton. This one was not clad in white, but in rusted armor, and the sword he held was magnificent. No, that did not even begin to describe it.

Gently drawing the hand of the skeleton away, William took up the sword. Its sheath was unadorned and simplistic. But as he drew forth the blade, it took his breath away. It did not just reflect the light of torches but seemed to emanate a light of its own.

Only one name could fit so great a weapon. "Excalibur," said William. "How did this blade come here? It was returned to the Lady in the Lake! I suppose our Lord, Jesus, might have given it to another." Then he remembered his mission. "It is of no consequence, at present."

Some part of him wanted to head back at once. But another part drew him onward, not to the rise, but downward. There was another passage, leading down and he followed it down. William wasn't entirely sure why, but as he scaled down a small drop, he found that he had come to a lower level. In the distance, he could see many of the corpses and spikes that he'd seen from above.

And then he saw them.

Dozens upon dozens of bodies lying in neat rows. Every one of them was dressed as the threshold guardian and holding a curved sword upon their breast. Many of them had wounds that were now dry.

They must have been killed in battle.

Perhaps the threshold guardian was only the last remnant of an entire force. One that had been wiped out by other heroes. It occurred then, to William, that this was almost a war. Obviously, someone else had been dealing with grievous casualties to the guards. Was this a funeral?

It so, then it meant that Jaffar might lose by simple virtue of attrition. That must have been why he had so many traps. Even now, this ruin was crumbling around him. And he was using the wreckage of his ambitions to prolong his inevitable defeat.

Jaffar and the devil were in good company, it seemed.

And so, William began his return journey.

It was largely far easier, and he felt newfound confidence as he did. At least until he nearly missed a jump and had to catch himself on a ledge. Dangling over a bed of spikes, he struggled to haul himself up, his sheath banging against him. "Damn it!" he hissed. "Never pretend as if death-defying leaps are a simple matter, you fool! Pride cometh before the fall!"

And he went on.

Then something occurred to the Prince. Where had that potion come from? Clearly, it had been magical in nature. And it was laid out as if waiting for him. But by whom? The mice? He'd seen none of them.

And hadn't Alexander the Great fought Jaffar in single combat? He'd have had to get past a large portion of the guards to do that. If so, how had Jaffar filled out his ranks?

Then again, this place had not always been dead. Once people had lived here.

Alexander must have scaled to the very heights and killed the guards. And if he'd come that far, he'd likely taken his army with him. So, Alexander must have destroyed Babylon long ago but been slain in his own turn. Or, perhaps, he ventured in along, and the city fell apart by some other means.

The point, if there was one, was that these undead guards must be a recent addition.

Once Jaffar had used live warriors and ruled over a city, a kingdom in his own right. But all of them were now gone. Or were they? Perhaps on the higher levels, William would see some other inhabitant. It might be that the Princess had attendants.

And, at last, William stood in the same hall where he'd begun. Setting a hand to the sword at his side, William made his way into the hall and drew the blade. It illuminated the darkness as the threshold guardian sat, meditating.

Dead eyes flared to life. "So, you have the sword."

"That I do," said William, feeling a new sense of confidence. "Are you prepared to meet your fate, creature?"

"Fate is a fickle mistress. But I assure you, you shall meet yours." said the guardian, voice taking on a new tone. And then he howled and rushed at William.

Their blades clashed, and William was forced back, parrying thrusts. Slashing with his own blade, he caught his enemy across the eye. He'd expected him to flinch, but the monster jabbed forward. William gasped as the curved blade was driven into his stomach. As it was driven out, he flinched backward. He ignored the pain as he parried, setting a hand to the wound to control blood loss.

Falling to one knee, William raked his sword again his enemy's leg. As they fell, he rose and brought down his sword. The blade cleaved deep into the skull of his enemy. As it did, the corpse fell down, limp, and power was drained away from it. The darkness was purified, and William gasped.

He was victorious, but with a wound in the stomach...

William would be dead soon enough, anyway. What a waste.

Drawing up his hand, however, he found that it was not bloody. Nor was the cloth. Had his wound healed?

No, it was there. But not a drop of blood was spilling forth.

"How is..." began William as he walked. Then he laughed, much to his pain. "Of course! The sheathe! King Arthur's scabbard ensured that the one who bore it never shed a single drop of blood!"

Still, it hurt a great deal.

Sheathing Excalibur, William walked onwards and came to a great door of greenstone. Its frame was inlaid with ivory. "I suppose this is the threshold. But it stands closed.

"So, what now." Glancing back, he saw that over the frame of the door he'd come, there was a small ledge. On it was a slightly raised tile. Leaping upward, he caught himself and howled as the pain in his wound. Even so, the tile depressed, and the door began to open.

Dropping down quickly, William fell to one knee, gasping.

Then, turning to the door, he scaled his way up.

The first level of this miserable palace had been completed. And William had no intention of letting this be the last he cleared. And that presence within his mind welcomed and encouraged it...


	4. Fellow Heroes

**Chapter Four: Fellow Heroes**

As William sped up the stairs, he was suddenly assailed with visions.

Before his eyes, William beheld a vast room of elaborate, ivory pillars. And within it stood a woman of majestic beauty, indescribable beauty, clad in white. Her long, brown hair fell around her as she stood with her back to a bed of pillows. Her legs were bared by her skirt, and her hands were clasped before her. And in front of her was an hourglass, whose glowing sands fell like the passing of angles.

Yet this was no hourglass to be put upon a table. It towered over the room, immense in size so that the lower part of it was taller than William. The sand swirled within it, over and over, changing and shifting so you could never be sure how far along they were. The woman looked down at them, and William felt as though she were gazing at him.

The hourglass stopped.

And then he halted as the steps came to an end.

William found himself between floors. Around him, he saw the stairs continued, but there was a landing here. And many, majestically beautiful woman lounged upon pillows around him. Their clothing left little to the imagination, wearing red and white. All of them were akin to a dream, though lesser compared to the Princess.

"Greetings to you, noble Prince." said one, coming forward. She wore a circlet of gold and bowed in a way that showed off her ample cleavage.

This had to be a trap.

"You..." said William. "Who are you?"

"We are ladies in waiting of the Princess." said the leader. "We have come here on your behalf to aid in your quest."

And as he spoke, they arose and moved toward him, surrounding him. William looked around, setting a hand to his sword. But there seemed nowhere they could hide a weapon on them anyway.

"Are you?" asked William, not believing a word of it.

"Indeed we are." said another. "Our purpose is to find worthy warriors and offer them our aid."

"I was under the impression that I was to undertake this journey alone," said William flatly. "And I am busy at the moment."

"Oh, but we are here to aid in your quest." said another. These women seemed to move around almost as a single entity. "Ahead of you lies a dangerous and terrible way. There are many guards who will seek to end your life if you go that way. And besides that, there are many other dangers, traps, and such.

"We can show you an easier way."

"Easier?" asked William, remembering the near-deaths he'd had so far. "What do you mean?"

The one who had spoken first moved to a door and set a hand to a panel. It slid open before him, and William saw a swift and easy way, leading down from the stair. "Through this pathway, we can take you by a route that will lead you all the way to the fourth level. You may bypass the dangers and troubles of this route and so come unawares."

"That route is leading down, not up," noted William.

"Yes, that is the purpose." said the woman. "This passage twists around the various floors and comes out near the passage of the fourth floor."

"Ah, I see," said William. "In which case, it will take a larger amount of time to go through."

"Somewhat more, yes, but you may waste as much time fighting the guards." noted another among them as they drew in.

Realistically speaking, was William really going to get to the top? And if he did not reach the top, the only thing he'd have achieved was what he did along the way. "I may, but killing the guards performs a service in itself. My thanks to you, ladies, but I shall take the long route."

The women looked at eachother and nodded. Then they drew back and bowed formally. "...As you wish, noble knight."

Somehow, William had the feeling that their mission had not been so much to help as test him.

And then William had come out of the passage and was at the top. The dungeon in which he had been before had been clean and well put together. This place, however, was crumbling. The stones were cracked, and mold was growing on the walls. It was a bit warmer here, though, and the mold told William that things could live here.

Where below had been utterly dead, he saw a mouse scurry into a hole in the wall. It was... comforting to be in the presence of life again. Still, he had work to do. Turning to either side, he saw one way led to a shallow pit and nowhere else. Drawing his sword, he looked left.

There, in the distance, he saw a guard standing in a doorway, a blade planted in the ground. The undead was waiting for him, clad all in white and blue. William turned and moved forward, facing across from the man. At his feet was a freshly bloodied corpse, one who had lost its head. This one was eastern.

"So, you've passed the threshold guardian, have you?" scoffed the guard. "No matter, you'll find that he is the weakest of all of us. The dregs of our guard."

The weakest of all of us? And he, not they. That seemed an important detail.

William stepped forward, only for the ground beneath his feet to crumbled. Falling downward, he caught himself, only for that floor too to give them. Falling to the ground, he saw the guard leaping down from above at him.

Rolling away, he heard the spark of metal on stone and turned to face his enemy.

"Now you face us! And we are legion!" cried the guard.

Their blades met, once, twice, thrice, and with each blow, William was forced back. Soon he was at the edge of a pit and trapped there. Catching the guards blade, he held it there, struggling not to fall. "Legions are but mortal."

"At least you didn't flee like the last one." snarled the guard, pressing him back.

"Last one?" asked William, thinking quickly.

"You require no exposition on my part." said the guard, nearly driving him off. "You'll see him soon enough, in death!"

William didn't need any.

Dropping to one knee, he used the guard's own momentum against him. His enemy let out a cry and fell down over the edge into the pit. There was a sickening crunch, and William looked down, before smiling.

"Well, it seems the dregs were the better part of the wine," said William.

Then he walked onward.

Pulling himself up onto the platform, he saw the new corpse and was glad it was not Felix. Then he moved on and halted. There, to one side, was a dead guard. Someone had stabbed him repeatedly, and he'd been put lying there. Another could be seen ways up in several pieces.

It was clear that the dead guards were laid to rest en masse. That meant that these ones had been killed only recently. And the one he'd killed had mentioned one who had leaped past him without fighting.

Was it possible that Jaffar only ever had one guard on duty at a time? And if so, he must replace them as soon as one had moved on. William assumed that fighting two men at a time wasn't considered fair. But what if two escapees got up here at the same time?

Something was very wrong here.

Even so, he had no time to consider the matter. Because as he walked forward, the floor under him shuddered. Leaping back, William saw it fall apart before his eyes. And he smelled a familiar aroma and felt a welcoming presence. Stepping down into the darkness below, he saw through the floor another potion. Picking it up, he looked at it.

The designs were different here.

Rather than showing the warriors drinking of it, it showed warriors being slain. They fell in battle, and as they did, their blood spill down into the earth. As it entered the underworld, it seeped down into a great cauldron. There the serpent goddess from before cast some incantation.

Blood?

Was this drink blood? William felt a sense of revulsion and put it down. No, don't be foolish, blood did not smell or taste like this. It was likely a metaphor for the heroism of warriors providing the means by which the land was healed. In any case, William was not injured and didn't need it.

Putting it down, he clambered up onto the top and looked back. One of the guards corpses and saw that there wasn't a drop of blood from them. Looking further down toward the body of the other would-be Prince, William felt a chill.

Not a drop of blood remained. The body had withered to appear as the guards.

William turned away with a shudder. As he did, a warmth coiled around him, telling him to concern himself purely with the Princess. That was what he had come here to do, and by seeking her, he was already doing great good. His eyes looked at the mold and some insects below.

Then he saw many holes within the ground, and within each one was a spike, just below the surface. Drawing out his sword, he tapped the ground and the spikes came out. If he hadn't looked down then, he'd be dead.

Coincidence, he was sure.

Quickly, he picked his way through the spikes and saw a raised platform over the hallway above. Wanting to be as far away from the potion as possible, he climbed up and ran alongside it. Soon enough, he came to the gap. But several ledges were leading up a bit. So William sheathed his sword, ran back, and made a running leap.

He nearly smashed his face in on the wall, and the present expressed concern.

Ignoring it, William began to scale his way upward.

Reaching the top, he saw before him a guard standing at the ready with his blade up. But he was looking the opposite direction and cursing as if someone had just escaped him. As William stepped forward, the guard whirled on him.

This one's lifeforce would restore the land soon enough.

"Another one." hissed the guard. "Fine then, I'll carve you up soon enough. One more to add to Jaffar's collection!"

William rushed forward and didn't take a defense. He attacked, striking hard and fast. The guard parried and thrust at him, but William twisted his sword to cut off the hand. Bringing Excalibur around, he slashed the leg out from the guard. Even as he did, the guard drew out a knife and jabbed William in the leg.

"...Damn you..." snarled the guard. "You... will never... reach... the Princess..."

William cut his head off, ignoring the pain. Now he was the one cutting guards to pieces. He wondered if the next adventurer if there was a next, would drop him from a pit.

It hardly mattered.

Making his way on, William soon found he had to scale up to another ledge with a portcullis at the top. Finding the pressure plate, he pressed it, then pulled himself up. As he walked on, he saw another pressure plate and a straight line to the door.

This looked simple enough.

Moving over the plate, William sprinted forward. As he ran, part of the floor fell away moments after he passed it. Even so, he was over-

And then he hit another pressure plate and the gate shut.

Ah, it was one of those.

Yet that presence, that familiar presence drove him to look down the pit. Scaling down quickly, he came to the edge and saw another potion. Quickly picking it up, he examined it as well. This one had a very different design. It showed many different pictures of battles being waged between warriors.

And even as they were fighting, the serpent goddess set the potions for the victor to find.

Was it possible that there were being placed, even as he did battle? Certainly, they were warm to the touch. However, it hardly mattered. William drank the potion and felt his wounds heal, and his energy restored. Setting the gourd down, he moved onward, coming to another bed of spikes in front of a ledge.

Activating it with his sword, he slipped through and scaled upward.

Beyond, he saw a guard, clad in orange and yellow. He regarded William with narrowed eyes, then let forth a breathless sigh. "So, you passed the first two, did you? Today is ever more costly to our forces."

"Are you an officer, then?" asked William.

"In a manner of speaking." said the guard. "I am responsible for the assigning of the prison guard. As well as those you've gone through. When one falls, I see him replaced."

"I'm curious how the dead decide who should lead?" asked William.

"The strong control the weak." said the guard. "Let us see which of us is stronger. Draw your sword."

William did so, and the two took stances. For a long moment, they paused in place before they began to circle, looking for weaknesses. As they did, William saw his chance and sprang forward. His enemy surged forward as well, and they passed eachother. William felt a blade rake against his shoulder but miss for the most part. Excalibur, meanwhile, cut deep and bloody through his enemy's side.

Halting, William sheathed his sword. There was a sound, and his enemy collapsed into a slump. Without a word, he walked on and came across, yet another potion set for him to find. Yet there was another, just beyond that had blue steam coming from it. Drinking of the red, he examined the markings and found them blank.

Perhaps there was no more to say.

Then he moved forward toward the blue potion. He was unharmed, but perhaps it would provide him some greater power. Already, William could sense that life in this place was returning. A spider's web above had caught many flies. Plants could be seen growing from cobblestones.

Was this because of him?

Or was had it always been this way and he had only just noticed. Nicodemus had said that reality was merely the surface of our thoughts. If so, perhaps William had drawn this reality up from the depths of the unconscious by his efforts.

He looked at the potion.

The markings showed a warrior standing tall atop an army. Men raised their swords to hail him, and at his feet were dozens of women. He along was worthy, stronger than the others, and the warriors ended their own lives before him. As they drank poison, their lifeforce was drawn from their bodies and sent to the warrior.

William did not know what this potion did, but what it seemed to promise was wrong. Putting it down, he moved past. A gate shut behind him, and he glanced back at the closed way. Then he climbed onward. Something seemed pleased at his choice.

As he did, he felt drawn to move faster through the halls. By now, there were more parts of the walls covered by moss than not. Grass was growing up through the tiles as he scaled up a rise. It occurred to William that he was not tired. Was this some magic of the potion, increasing his stamina beyond normal limits?

He was certain that the Princess would make all things clear when he came for her.

But why was he certain? Something within him had shifted, and he was not sure he liked it. And then he nearly walked off a cliff. It led down to a huge drop, and, sure enough, there were many corpses below. Though at least there were vines and grass growing over them. It gave them something resembling a burial. Further along, there was a guard, pacing restlessly before him.

If the man came forward, he could probably kill William as he leaped.

But that wouldn't be fair, would it? William realized how frustrating this must be to Jaffar. At any point, he could have killed William and every one Prince, no, adventurer. But doing that would break the wager.

"What's the matter, Prince?" hissed the guard. "Afraid to make the jump?"

"Why are you even working for Jaffar?" called William.

"Because we hate you." replied the guard. "We enjoy your demise. We facilitate it and pray with every moment for your destruction and despair!"

"...What precisely have I done to warrant such hate?" asked William.

"You are but the extension of what we hate." said the guard. "After I kill you, the Prince will find another. You'll not get away like his last self."

Prince? They had addressed him as much, but he was no Prince yet. Even so, there was no more time to wait. "Fair enough."

Then, William leaped from the edge, landing in a crouch.

The guard howled and rushed forward. William raised his blade, tensed to meet him, then stepped aside. The guard slid to a halt too late and careened off the edge. In midair, he turned and caught himself by one hand.

William moved forward and raised his sword. Then he halted. He could not kill a helpless opponent. "It is finished. Yield, and I will spare your life."

"Never!" snarled the undead. "This shell did not suffice. Another may."

Then he let go and fell to shatter into dust upon the ground. Around him, the plants began to grow openly. Water broke through the wall and poured outward to begin forming pools. William smiled and sheathed his weapon.

Then he walked onward.

"Hello!" William heard a cry. "Hello!

"Can anyone hear me?"

William followed the cry to a side passage and found a great pit, and looking down, he saw only spikes. Plants were growing in there, but not as much. "Who speaks?" called William down.

"Oh thank Allah." cried a voice. "I thought I'd be trapped here for eternity."

"Do you need help?" asked William about to climb down.

"Don't come down! Don't!" shouted the man quickly. "You scale down, but there's no way back up again if you try."

"How did you get down there?" asked William. The drop looked quite lethal.

"I was an explorer, sent to chart these lands." said the man. "I spent years chronicling the landscape surrounding Babylon. These I stored countless maps in the libraries of Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem?" asked William at first wondering what the man was talking about. Then he remembered, though the presence bade him not to think of it. "I got my maps from there."

There was a pause. Then a laugh. 'Well, then it seems I've damned another to my fate.

"I... I was drawn to save the Princess when I had finished mapping everything. She appeared to me, pleaded that I come to aid her. My companions and I agreed and went to her aid. We were taken captive and given our fair chance.

"And yet I could not get far, couldn't even get out of the dungeons. It was too much.

"I doubt my companions faired any better."

Something clicked, and William remembered who he was. Who the man was, so to speak. "The...

"You are Assad of Jerusalem, the famous mapmaker?"

"You've heard of me?" asked Assad.

Where had he heard of him, anyway? "I am Sir William Gabriel of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Your maps were of invaluable aid to us in navigating this region.

"You were reported dead forty years ago."

"Forty years?" asked Assad. "But I...

"It has not seemed so long. I was told that time passed differently here." There was a sigh. "But it hardly matters, we are both of us damned, now."

"I am damned to nothing yet, sir," said William. "Is there anywhere I could find some rope?"

"I don't know, the land might have shifted since," admitted Assad. "This cursed dungeon is different for everyone." Then he halted, and a change came over his voice. "...No, no, you must not help me." It was almost a trancelike voice that spoke, now.

"What do you mean?" asked William.

"Jaffar has absolute power in this place," said Assad. "He left me down here because I was already trapped, but you're under the protection of the Princess.

"If you help me out, you'll be breaking the rules. He might kill you without restriction."

"Then what can be done?" asked William, hating this more by the moment.

"...You must find the Princess," said Assad, reverence in his voice. "There are others trapped here, like myself. Only when Jaffar is defeated, and she is saved can we be freed.

"Perhaps if you succeed-"

William had had enough. The presence drove him to remain silent and continue on, but he did not. Instead, he unhooked the blade by his side and tied it in place to keep it from falling. "No, I will not abandon you here. If Jaffar wishes to send his legions after me, I'll deal with them myself.

"One moment."

Tying the sheath around one leg, he lowered himself down. Looking down, he could see that the sheath was bouncing into a gap. That must be where he was. "Grab ahold of my legs. If you can, I might be able to pull both of us up."

"Yes, but..." began Assad, as if fighting off a spell.

"Come up at once," said William. "I shall go on alone once you are free."

Someone grabbed the sheath, and William struggled to keep his grip. Pulling himself up, pained his arms, but slowly he hauled himself over. Soon Assad came over the edge with him before clambering onto the flagstones. He was a short, wiry man with a black mustache and was clad as if for a wedding. But his garments were worn and filthy. At his side was a short blade, and he gasped for air.

"Thank you, young Prince of Jerusalem," said Assad.

Why did people keep calling him a Prince? "Prince? You mistake me. I am but the son of a Lord to a poor and dusty place." William untied his scabbard and returned the weapon to his side.

"How fortunate for you," said Assad. "Though...

"Forgive me, but was your mother, a slave from Europe?"

For a moment, William strove to speak. It was...

It was almost as if he honestly did not know. The memories were there, he knew as much, but it was almost like an unimportant detail. Resentment came to him at Assad's words, much delayed. William considered telling him that the Crusaders had purified Jerusalem. But that was not a Christian sentiment. "Much has changed since you disappeared. Jerusalem has been given into Christian hands. And so shall all the world."

Assad shifted. "...I see.

"Well, all is as God wills it, as they say."

William pulled himself up, feeling as if they should not be present at all. It was as if something fundamentally... wrong had happened with this. "We should separate here. You go that way, I'll take the other. In that way, Jaffar may not realize what I have done.

"Should one of us fail, the other must continue the quest in my stead."

Yes, that was the main concern. Ensuring the Princess was rescued.

Assad noded. "...I will not forget this, Sir William."

William's gaze returned to the sword. "That is not a sword used by your people, is it?"

Assad looked down. "This...

"This is the Sword of Damocles. Long ago, King Dionysus of Greece was praised by a courtier named Damocles. Damocles flattered him for his immense fortune and wealth. Dionysus offered to switch places with the courtier. Naturally, the courtier agreed. But as he sat in splendor, the courtier had this blade hung over his head by only a horse's hair.

"The story illustrates that with great power comes great danger."

"If I recall, Damocles begged to be returned to his old rank before the day was out," noted William.

"Yes," said Assad. "I think I have a better idea of how he must have felt now.

"What of your blade?"

William smiled in pride and drew it up. "Excalibur, the sword of King Arthur."

"I have not heard the name," admitted Assad.

"He was the greatest King the world has ever known," said William, pleased to be able to show off his knowledge. "While on a journey alongside the sorcerer, Merlin, King Arthur faced a Black Knight. The Black Knight had already killed several knights, for he would suffer no one to pass him. Their armor he sold, and their shields he hung from a tree.

"Arthur saw the shield of a knight who was dear to him and challenged the knight to battle.

"Both unhorsed one another and went to swords. For three days straight they did battle, never stopping for rest. Until at last, Arthur's sword was broken. Grievously wounded, Merlin took him away to be healed. And when Arthur was restored to health, Merlin took Arthur to a great lake. It was majestic beyond description, and a boat was waiting for him.

"The boat brought them swift and sure without sail or oars, and then they met the Lady of the Lake. She bestowed Excalibur upon Arthur, and he bore it ever afterward."

"But how do you know this sword really is Excalibur?" asked Assad.

William considered the question. He'd assumed that only Excalibur could be so great, but there were other blades. It might be that Excalibur was even greater. "The sheathe, of course. I was grievously wounded against one of the undead, but I did not shed a drop of blood."

"But my sheathe too, provides such benefits," said Assad. "Sharaman's court had such enchantments, I am told. How can you know it Excalibur and not another blade from your history?"

William shifted. "...Well, how do you know that is the Sword of Damocles?"

"Jaffar said as much when he came to gloat," admitted Assad. "He held a grudge against me for the maps I had made, for they were the means by which new travelers could arrive. And he also keeps prisoners for intelligent conversation.

"I suppose he has little to do when not setting traps.

"We'd best not waste any more time.

"Hours do not pass as quickly in this world like our own, but they do pass. Farewell and good luck. For my part, I shall restart the level."

"Good luck," said William.

And so they parted ways and were gone.

As William made his way along the living halls. There he found that there was a staircase leading upward away from the main path. The presence that had been with him drew him upward with a sense of urgency, and he obeyed. Soon enough, he came to another set of spikes.

Navigating these, he found a ledge and scaled up it. And there he saw an altar inlaid with gold. There was a statue of the serpent goddess, and she was truly beautiful, even as a statue. Her hair was tied up above her head, and she held in offering another gourd.

This one was far larger than the others, and something was different.

Before William knew what he was doing, he had taken the gourd up and almost drank it. Yet he halted and looked upon the surface. Gazing at him, he saw an image of thousands of spirits rising upward from innumerable corpses. As they did, they melded and merged together. Their spirits formed together into a single divine warrior.

And by his side was the Princess, beautiful beyond measure.

The sight of her awoke a longing obsession within him, and he drank of the gourd before he could think. As he did, whispers filled his mind. His muscles tensed, and the gourd fell from his hands to shatter upon the ground. Raising one fist, he clenched it in hand. Power was filling him.

William was that warrior.

He was sure of that now.

No.

Pride came before the fall, and William would not succumb to pride. He would perform his duty as well as he could. So he turned, and carefully lowered himself between the spikes, before pressing on. As he did, he wondered where Felix was and what he had been doing.

William suspected that Felix was the one who had been sidestepping all those guards. There couldn't have been that many travelers here right now. And Felix always had been good at getting out of scrapes.

As he walked, he leaped across a great pit. Scaling upward, he turned around and leaped the other way. It was almost on a reflex that he journeyed down this corridor. As if he'd been down this hall before-

That was it.

The potions were not just magic. They were blood magic. Every hero who died was drained of their essence, their lives blood. Magic then ensured that those who drank from them were healed. And as one drank of them, they gained an element of the power of each hero.

William suddenly knew that there was a guard above him, waiting. There had been every time before, and there would be now.

A sense of revulsion passed through him at what he had done.

This was... dark magic, surely.

But there did not seem to be any hope of getting to the top and saving the Princess-

No.

William was here to kill Jaffar. Saving the Princess was a secondary benefit at best. He would kill the Vizier and end his threat, then leave alongside Felix.

The Princess and the serpent goddess were one and the same. Of that, he was sure. The potions were how she ensured her heroes had a chance of victory. While it could be argued as necessary, it remained unholy magic. The presence tried to soothe such thoughts, but he defied them.

Scaling quickly up, he faced the guard.

"So, you've drunk of the blood, have you?" asked the guard.

"Step aside," said William. "And you will remain unhurt."

"I think not." said the guard.

William surged forward as the guard raised his sword. His blade clashed against the sword, and it shattered before him. Excalibur cut clean down, cleaving the man in two as he walked forward. The ones that came later would be far stronger, his senses warned him.

A comforting presence told him to press on, but he shrugged it away. His memories told him that the gate would be shut, and those memories were correct. Pressing onward, William rushed forward at a run, coming to the ledge as expected. He cleared it, easily, and landed on the switch. Whirling around, he made another jump, and, as expected, was able to just make it.

Pulling himself forward, he saw that tiles had fallen from the roof. In through that roof came the welcome light of day. This had been a very long hour. William smiled and walked forward. Coming to the door, he scaled up it, knowing that this was only the beginning. Many stronger enemies awaited.

Good.

If he killed them, it would restore far more life to this dying land.

William would see it green again. And neither Jaffar nor his thrice-damned guards would stand in his way.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And now I begin to see where I have been going with this. My business in writing this is to turn the gameplay elements into stories.

Assad, in this case, represents players who didn't die. Instead, they ended up trapped in an unwinnable situation. While the boy who was killed, I suppose, represents players who gave up early on because of difficulty. William rescuing Assad represents using Control A to reset the level. While the harem girls represent the ability to cheat to go to a higher level at the cost of a lot of time.

Also, fridge horror galore.


	5. The Shadow

**Chapter Five: The Shadow**

William saw no harem girls on his way up the steps. They wounded higher and higher, and he felt as if he had been running for hours. The stones around him, once covered in vines, were now falling away. As he scaled, the stones disappeared. He was running up sets of stairs suspended over an eternal void.

A red, hellish light was below him and...

Was that the sun above? No, it was far too bright, and it somehow did not hurt the eyes. Glancing back, William could see no sign of the stonework. He was rushing up a neverending stair, reaching from the void into nothingness.

Was this real? It seemed like something from a tale? Or perhaps it was both story and reality.

What was reality?

And he came to light. As he traversed it, he came out into a palace.

Not that it was a particularly nice one. The walls were darkened, and the light that came through high windows. Yet when William looked out the window, he saw no land. Only a vast ocean of timeless waters, but they were white. And above it was a sky of the purest light. He could see now the palace, stretching out between them.

He could see endless rises in all kinds of architecture. Even Jerusalem had not had this many styles. There were Greek pillars, and Roman arches, alongside many other styles he had never seen. The palace itself did not seem to have any rhyme or reason, rising and lowering into the distance.

Turning from the window, he looked at the faded walls. Walking left along the passage, William saw many pictures drawn. They showed numerous great battles won by Kings of Persia. As he walked, he saw an inscription there. It showed a warrior, clad in leather, white and blue, running through the trees. A majestically beautiful, black-haired girl in white lay upon a bed in a palace. She seemed to be waking from a restless dream.

Then William saw words inscribed. "Most people think time is like a river that flows swift and sure in one direction. But I have seen the face of time, and I can tell you they are wrong. Time is an ocean in a storm.

"You may wonder who I am and why I say this. Sit down, and I will tell you a tale like none you have ever heard.

"Know first that I am the son of Sharaman, a mighty King of Persia.

"On our way to Azad with a small company of men, we passed through India. Where the promise of honor and glory tempted my father into a grievous error.

"And so it was that we laid siege to the Maharajah's city.

"I remember that the Vizier of that city, Zurvan, came before us in hood and cloak. He was a sickly man, but able to move despite that sickness. He promised to open the gates for us in secret, so long as we gave him his choice of the Maharajah's treasure vaults..."

"See how he fights..." spoke a voice. "Like a warriors son."

William realized it was his own. As he walked along the passage, he saw images of flaming stones being cast over the walls of a white city. Warriors fought with one another in gruesome combat. "It's like the siege of Antioch. I remember the stories Father used to tell me of it. We Christians had sieged the city. Many great armies came against us and every one of them was defeated.

"I remember there was an offering of peace. Father arranged it.

"But he could accept no agreement which did not give us Jerusalem. I remember that Father got Bohemend in contact with Firouz, a Christian Armenian. With his help, we were able to seize Antioch and face yet another, larger army.

"There were long months of battle and starving ahead of us. But, after days of fasting, the army was able to break the siege. The angels of heaven descended to sally forth into battle with us. The Spear of Longinus was held before our ranks." A presence questioned this, and William smiled and explained. "The Spear of Longinus, it was a weapon that pierced the side of our lord, Jesus Christ, as he died on the cross for our sins. In doing so he redeemed mankind-" He halted, looking to one side and seeing no one. "Who am I talking to?

"I must move on. This place is... getting to me." Then he halted as he saw something strange.

A picture of a great hourglass with flowing sands within it. And a Prince holding a dagger within.

It was as if he was losing his sense of self. Becoming part of something far greater. Then he halted as his foot was set onto a flagstone. It gave way beneath him, and he hardly pulled back. Part of the stone fell away, and he saw below that same hellish light from before.

Looking at it, he felt his mouth go dry as the souls of the damned rose upward.

Quickly, William looked away and leaped over the flagstone, only to find that beyond was a sheer drop. He landed in a crouch and pulled himself up. Moving through the halls, he tried to put his mind from it. And yet he felt as if another person was there, at his hand. "I don't understand why I thought I was there at the Siege of Antioch. I was not yet born. There are men who believe in reincarnation, but that is not the way of Christians.

"My mind is playing tricks on me."

He headed back, paying no heed to the inscriptions around him. Scaling up, he stepped over the flagstone, being careful not to look down into the darkness below. Yet he could hear the cries and moans of the damned.

William made his way forward and soon came to a sheer wall. However, behind him, there were ledges for him to climb, and he went up to them quickly. Scaling upward, he saw a plateau he could leap to. Making the leap, feeling as though I'd done it before, William landed. Moving forward, he saw a passage leading forward.

Yet, William somehow knew that taking that way would only lead him to a dead end. So he turned and looked upward. Leaping, he caught a ledge above him and began to scale up. Reaching the top, memories assailed him. Visions caught him of running there, then leaping forward, only to land and be impaled upon spikes. Or miss the spikes by jumping too soon and plummet to smash his skull against the cold flagstones.

Looking at a window, he saw ragged curtains blowing in the wind. Should they not have decayed away? Something about this realm was timeless, unaffected by the passing of ages. Turning around, he was not surprised to see a platform ten feet away. Springing forward, he landed there and walked forward.

Visions of running too fast assailed him, of falling off and smashing his body below. Coming to the edge of the pit, he saw the innumerable heroes lying dead there. Springing from it, he cleared the gap easily and landed. He had only a little space between this and the next pillar, but he walked forward and sprang again.

As he landed, the platform compressed.

A switch.

Distantly, William heard the familiar grinding of doors, and in many visions, he saw it as well. And yet he also saw something else. Looking forward, he saw let another platform and was drawn there by a seductive impulse. Leaping forward, he looked to a place where the masonry was more recent in the ceiling. Drawing out his sword, he smashed it before scaling up.

It was akin to a trance what he saw next.

A corridor of three sets of blades. Both plunged together to clap in the middle. Between each one were the bodies of men who came before. Their rotting carcasses had been carved asunder, for they were unworthy.

Moving forward, William saw visions of being killed over and over again. Trapped between one blade, or picking the wrong moment. Coming to one of the blades, he waited until they clapped together before springing over it. He got through just in time and picked his way through more corpses.

Yet not all were going toward the blades.

Some of them were coming away.

What was he doing?

William halted and realized that he had cleared these three blades almost on reflex. As if he'd done this many times before. No, no, this was a spell. Some enchantment. William must stay focused and careful.

What was he doing here?

He had been drawn as if by a sirens song, but now as he pulled himself up a ledge, he realized he did not know. It had been an impulse as if commanded by some greater entity than himself. The Princess, perhaps? But what experience did she have with dodging blades?

No.

William moved forward and saw another statue of the serpent goddess. It offered him power, the power to defeat Jaffar, and gain still more. Taking it, William reflected it would have been a wasted effort to not use it.

Drinking from it, he drank the potion down and felt his body tense with power.

Then he looked upon the potion's designs. This one showed an emblem of thousands of fallen warriors, dead in the sands. Yet a great warrior moved forward and raised his hands, and they rose anew, each with the strength they had in life. They kneeled before the warrior as the Prince took the hand of the Princess.

Casting aside the gourd, William shattered it on the flagstones and turned away. He was that warrior, he knew it now. What, no, what was he thinking?

Best to focus on the traps.

Coming before the traps, he watched the blades clash and draw back. As he did, he realized how fast they moved. One wrong move, and he would die in them. Waiting, his neck hairs went on end as they clapped together. Quickly, William moved through, but even as he did, he nearly tripped over the blades.

He almost fell, but righted himself and removed his leg from the blades just in time. The next one clapped, and William moved through with cold sweat. The haze from before tempted to drag his thought away, to let it go instead. But he did not allow that as he saw the last set of blades clamped together.

With a spring, he leaped between them and landed beyond. Running forward, he leaped back onto the pressure plate. Once more, he heard the gate open as he leaped again and again. These were his actions and no others.

Soon he was running along the ledge he'd first come from.

Memories of all the other times he'd failed came to him. He'd fallen down to his death on this coming ledge, but he knew the trick was to start the jump early. And he cleared it, hardly breaking stride as he landed with experience. On and on he went, nearly outracing his shadow as he did. For what was a shadow of mortal flesh to such power as he now felt flowing through his veins.

At last, he came to the door. Sprinting over the edge, he sprang for it.

But the portcullis was closing, as it always had. Once before, he had failed to make it here. Not this time.

Catching it, he pulled himself under it and came out onto the ledge beyond. Below he saw a circular arena, with a set of winding stairs leading down to it. Walking down them, William witnessed drawn on the ring an image of two figures doing battle. One was of light and flame, the other of shadow.

And between them was a body. William halted and kneeled down by it. Odd, the corpse was one his own age and bore a sword. Yet surely William should have his memories of this moment. The sword itself was nothing special.

In fact, it looked like it had been swiped from one of the guards.

Perhaps this was that thief that had been dodging so many guards so far? He must have gotten all the way up here and not drank from even one of the potions. That was an impressive display for a mere mortal. A shame he had not, his power would have been a welcome addition.

Still, William would ensure his efforts were not in vain. Looking up, he saw more writing.

'Do you think I felt regret as I gazed upon the destruction I had wrought? If you think so, you are mistaken. I thought only of the honor and glory I would win my father by fighting like a warrior in my first battle.'

Moving past the dead thief, William moved up a set of stairs to head through a doorway beyond. There was only one chomping blade here, and he made it through without stopping. Finding a stair, he made his way down a small spiral staircase. Above, a skylight show window down upon him, so his shadow seemed to run in opposition.

And as they ran together in an endless spiral, William could hear sands falling all around him. At last, he came to a room. The floor here was a grating, and below he could see the entry to the next level. Moving to the far edge of the room, he saw a lever. Taking hold of it, William drew it back.

The door was opened.

With a smile, William turned and walked away up the stair. As he reached the next trap, he noticed the body of a man who had tried to get through here and died. Odd, he had no memories from that one either.

Ah, of course.

He must not have drunk from the blood either.

An admirable sort of bravery.

Wait.

Something was very wrong here. William knew that having such a disregard for death was wrong. And he would not have acted in such a fashion before, so what had changed? He had drunk of the blood, even knowing the risks. It had been akin to second nature for him.

They had been invaluable in surviving this maze. Yet they seemed to take him out of himself and not in a good way.

Coming back to the arena, he moved down the steps and looked upon Felix's corpse.

His body froze in horror, shuddering as he realized the truth. He had passed by this same body once before without realizing it. It was as if William had never even known his oldest friend. It had been pierced, as if with an arrow, but his chest was burning.

Felix was dead.

No, no, this had to be an illusion, a bad dream. This wasn't possible, he...

"He didn't play the game." came a dark voice.

Suddenly, the body arose from the floor, blade in hand. The eyes that William saw now were someone else's. They were cruel and happy at once.

"What... who... who are you?" asked William, stepping back.

"Does it matter?" asked Felix's corpse. "This meaningless skeleton surrounded by flesh is but an extension of my will now. And your weak spirit hardly makes you above it.

"So many endless Princes, scaling up farther and farther. Fighting guards, jumping gaps, and making the land green.

"All have broken.

"Your friend was but the latest. He was...

"An agile warrior. He escaped from his cell before Nicodemus arrived, even before he met you. A sword from a guard was snatched, and he made his way up. None could lay hands upon him, but, I am not so easily bypassed.

"Our duel...

"Developed not quite to his advantage.

"Now his power is mine. As all will be mine."

William's shock gave way to rage, and he surged forward, bringing down his sword. The blades clashed and they were face to face. "Jaffar..."

"I am pleased my name comes to you," said Jaffar, shove him back, before unleashing a flurry of strikes. The two circled one another, looking for weaknesses. "Do you want to know the history of that blade you carry? You thought it to be Excalibur, but I regret that I have never been able to add that sword to my collection."

William surged forward. Their blades clashed again, thrusting and parrying. Then Felix's body flipped away like a marionette. Landing he made a thrust that William was forced to evade. And so they circled once again. "No, the one you hold is the blade of Sir Balin."

"A noble knight of the Barbarian King, Arthur, he was the only Knight of that marvelous blade you hold in your hand. And yet the blade was nothing more than a curse in the end. Possession of it led him to murder. And for that murder, he was exiled.

"He walked from one misery to a next and died slaying his brother. And he realized the truth, mere moments before his death.

"A fitting sword for one such as-"

William attacked viciously, striking harder and harder. Jaffar, however, withstood his charge easily. Twisting his blade, Jaffar sent the blade spinning from William's hands. Even as William dodged back, he was raked over the eye and blood-filled his vision.

"Careful, Prince," said Jaffar. "Be too eager to attack, and you'll never reach the tower alive."

William snatched up a blade. "For your sake, you'd best hope I don't. Felix's death and the deaths of all here are on your head villain and no others!"

"Didn't you receive the visions?" asked Jaffar. "Didn't your religion forbid such curiosities? Yet here you have been drawn here, and now your friend has died alongside you.

"And for what?

"That you could be one more sacrifice in the blood rites of a pagan goddess."

William could bear it no more. Rage filled him, and he saw red as he surged forward. Striking repeatedly, he drove Jaffar before him toward the edge. At last, Jaffar's guard has knocked away, and William plunged his sword into the corpse's heart. Drawing it out, he kicked the body downward.

There was no cry.

No curse or cry of revenge.

And the rage did not abate. William was utterly calm now, as he sheathed his sword and began to lower himself down to the floor. His enemy lay below, he could sense his malignant presence. With a final drop, he landed where he had started, or very nearly. Yet every window was gone, and all the rooms were veiled in shadow. The only light was the hellish aura he'd seen before.

And out of the shadow came Felix's corpse. William was forced on the defensive and caught in the shoulder. His counter blow slashed Felix across the throat, but no response was made. His wounds were bleeding shadow.

"Do you think something as insignificant as a fall can harm my power, Prince?" asked Jaffar. "I am the god of this world. The very land you seek to heal is but the merest extension of my dominion.

"Do you think I need the Princess to control this world? The thought is but an extension of the physical, and thought is the true source of the unconscious. Winning her is but a petty amusement. A fitting trophy to complete my triumph.

"And you will be added to my collection of corpses like so many others!"

"No, I will not," said William. "What I say now is prophecy, Vizier of Babylon.

"I am going to kill every single one of your guards. Then, I am going to kill you. That, and no less, is the price you pay for the death of Felix."

Jaffar laughed in clear mockery. "Your god has no power here, Knight of Jerusalem."

William attacked.

This time it was no uncontrolled rage. His fury was controlled now and he attacked, driving the animated corpse before him. Jaffar, however, laughed, heedless of the wounds inflicted. He even danced backward, until as last he stood over the tiles.

William sheathed his sword.

"...So, you're giving up," said Jaffar.

Jaffar moved to spring forward, but as he did, the tile beneath his foot broke. With a cry, Jaffar fell backward. A scream of unfathomable agony came from below as William walked forward to look down. There, far below, he saw the very pits of hell themselves. The innumerable damned sinners dragged the soul of the Vizier down.

The body was burned away.

Yet as the Vizier was dragged down, great chains of light emanated from far below. Then Jaffar's spirit shot out of the pit and away. As expected, William doubted he should have engaged directly if he could actually die. Beneath him, the portal vanished into a simple pit filled with corpses.

Had the magic been the work of the Princess?

Certainly, William doubted that Jaffar would have cast such a portal himself.

This place...

It was cursed.

There was always a body here. Those heroes who were killed by it became the new corpse that would be resurrected. While the old...

What happened to the old?

No matter, the 'fair chance' was no doubt trapping the corpse below.

Felix was dead.

William stepped over the hole where the flagstones had been. As he did, he realized he'd never talk with the other boy again. Never see him again, or set up any kind of burial for him. He had come to his death within this place, like so many others.

Up until now...

It had been a fairy tale if a grim one.

William had not known any of those who came before who died but now...

With Felix dead, William realized that every one of those died here had been like him. People with their own hopes and dreams. Friends and family, all drawn here to die...

Die for what?

For some Princess to make their blood into potions by which the others might continue. And in so doing, seduce the wills of those who came. In doing so, she made it more likely that they would succeed. That was what this was all about, wasn't it?

The presence near him seemed concerned.

Soon William came to the door and saw the way up. Yet he stood there, unsure of how to proceed here. Felix was dead and...

And this was not a quest. Not yet.

For the one who achieved the Princess, this would have been a fairy tale, a grand quest achieved. But the stories never spoke of all those who were destroyed on their journey. How many people had died here? How many more would die?

Perhaps the blood potions had been created to try and ensure more survived. The Princess might be doing all she could to ensure his survival, but...

What if the Princess was truly as wicked as the Vizier? The wicked hated one another as much as they hated the good. It might be that by the time William ascended to reach the Princess, his will would be consumed. He might become her willing slave.

It might be better to escape this place. To leave and let Vizier and Princess wrangle with one another for eternity.

Yet that could not happen.

Jaffar was obviously a dark sorcerer of great power. If he gained unchecked power, he would control the Princess. And so he could not be allowed to gain victory. Therefore, if the Princess was never liberated, there would need to be more bodies. More would-be Princes, seeking to win her hand and triumph, dying in endless waves.

All to ensure a stalemate.

This was not a quest.

It was human sacrifice on a massive scale.

That was what Felix had died for. A blood sacrifice to prolong what might be an inevitable defeat. What could any mortal man do in such a world of horrors?

There was one thing.

William kneeled and began to pray. "God, grant me the strength to carry on. Grant me the strength to end this threat." And then William remembered Jaffar's mockery, his defilement of Felix's corpse. "And last of all, if it is your will, grant me revenge."

No words were spoken directly to him, but his thoughts settled. Jaffar was a villain, and he would die by William's hand. Once he'd destroyed him...

His thoughts would not stray again.

Potions and magic were no match for faith.

When William reached the top, he would decide what to do with the Princess. For now, he would purify this land. That was the task that had been set before him, and it would be fulfilled.

"Thy will be done," said William.

Rising up, William turned and walked up the stairs.

The quest lay before him.

The Vizier would die. As would all his legions.


	6. Reflection of Wrath

**Chapter Six: Reflection of Wrath**

The sands in the hourglass were falling downwards, little by little. They were almost half gone now. Yet the glow had intensified.

And there lounged the Princess upon pillows of silk. Her lustrous hair fell around her as she supported her head with one elegant hand. Her gaze looked at the hourglass with a grief-stricken appearance, but it was not for her own fate. She now wore a white dress that was low cut, to say the least.

As William gazed upon her, he found his heart taken, and looking upon her, he wished to hold her. To run his hands through her tresses and grip her body in his arms. It was as though a spell came over him, threatening to sweep away all deviant thoughts.

Then he remembered the corpse of Felix, lying upon the ground, and it was broken. Hatred filled him, and he reached the top of the stairs. Glancing to one side, he saw a gate and a guard beyond who looked at him in dead silence. On the other side, there was another way. He could see a portcullis there.

Finding a button, one of the doors opened, and he went through that.

He would kill Jaffar.

Coming to the edge, he found that there was a drop between him and the portcullis. Above was a platform, and he saw a beautiful tapestry. A voice within his mind bade him look around, and he calculated awareness was important.

This place...

It was beautiful.

No crumbling stones were in this place, nor shattered masonry. Silken curtains were everywhere. William could see flowing fountains bubbling with cold water. And then he saw something.

There were a number of white-clad girls walking through the room. Their midriffs were bare, and they leaned down to fetch water. "Have you heard the news? It's said that the Princess is in love. She's been pining after someone."

"Who could it be?" asked another.

"I don't know, but I heard a rumor that someone scaled up the tower through a secret door in the dungeons." said the first.

Both of these were radiantly beautiful. The presence told him that they too, would be his at the end of this. William focused on his hatred, to follow that voice was to give up his identity. He brought to mind the corpse of Felix.

"It sounds romantic to me." said a servant girl, who's black hair was parted with a single bang between the eyes. "But what will the Sultan think when he returns?"

"You, how long have you been here?" snapped William, moving toward them.

But they showed no signs of moving. Reaching out, he tried to grasp one on a shoulder, but his hand passed through. The girl shifted, perhaps because of him or perhaps not. "Who knows. But you know that no man on earth could possibly be worthy of her. Maybe he'll be impressed with him."

"Maybe, but Jaffar won't be happy." said the girl.

Then the two filled their jugs of water and moved away through a doorway. Had it been there before? He hadn't seen it. Yet it was blocked up with fallen stones.

Ah, so that was it.

This palace existed outside of time and space. As he walked through it, he could perceive other places, other times within it. This floor must have been attuned to when the thief had scaled the tower. It hardly mattered.

Felix would be avenged.

Scaling down the ledge, he found a switch. As soon as it was pressed, the door began opening, but something warned him not to go that way. Not yet. So instead, he found another way down and scaled-down. Below he saw a portcullis, shut tight. And on a wall, he found something else. More writing.

"Had I really seen her? Or had my mind, driven mad by horrors too great to bear, deceived my eyes and conjured up a phantom?"

It didn't matter.

William's course was set.|

Turning, he moved forward and saw a guard waiting for him. His enemy raised his sword to a guard position. "Infidel, you shall not reach the-"

"Out of me way, cur!" roared William.

Surging forward, he gripped his blade in two hands. Slamming against his enemies guard, he drove him back toward a portcullis. The guard parried a strike and counter-attacked, but William locked. He smashed him across the cheek with the pommel.

Sliding to the edge, the guard glanced down and then up. "Wait, please-"

William kicked him off the edge. His enemy screamed as he fell down to be impaled on numerous spikes. William glanced at his corpse. He realized the guard's undead flesh looked a bit healthier than it had before. It hardly matters what was important was that he was dead.

Moving forward, William spotted a switch and smashed it down. As the portcullis began to open, he leaped for it. Catching the ledge, he pulled himself up, and through before it was fully open.

Moving forward, he came to a gap filled with spikes. Looking up, he saw the ceiling. Tapping it with his sword it rattled. Stabbing upward, he smashed through. Bashing it open with sheer brute strength, he hauled himself up. What purpose did this room serve? There was nothing here.

It didn't matter. With another smash, he came up again through the floor.

Why was he here?

Ah, yes, power. He needed more of it to kill Jaffar. Turning, he saw a portcullis, and the presence drew him onward. Yet it seemed... reluctant, afraid somehow as he ran forward and reached the ledge. The stone beneath his feet fell away as he did, and he nearly fell to his death.

Then the portcullis above opened.

Pulling himself up, William saw another chomping set of blades. The usual bodies were there, though not as many. Moving forward, William waited for them to clang together, then stepped over. Beyond, he found another statue.

Taking it, he almost ignored the pictures.

Still, they might be important. Glancing over them, William saw many warriors dying. Like before, their blood was drained away, but their bodies rose again. There they were arrayed in defense against coming armies. With each one they killed, they became stronger, draining the spirit.

William didn't care.

He drank of the blood and felt the power and memories course through him. Turning around, he smashed the gourd against the floor. Then he stepped through the chompers again. Moving down, he remembered what others had one before him.

Dropping down through the floor, he slowed his fall by catching the ledge, then dropped down and moved on. Finding the switch that opened the portcullis across the drop, he pressed it and made a running leap over. Moving through before it was finished opening, he moved forward along a long hall. He saw more servants as he walked, all of them were girls and all of them beautiful in one way or another. Each one seemed to be custom-tailored to certain tastes. They could be changed later if he so desired. Certain among his memories were drawn to one or another, but William simply did not care.

Felix would be avenged.

Then he saw another.

It was a young man with a goatee, walking alongside a portly guard. The guard was clad in far finer clothes than he ought to have become. "Has the Princess yet responded to your offer?"

"No, not yet." said the man. "In truth, there does not seem any doubt of her response, but the courtesy is there. Like in the days of Gaia and Ouranos, there is no other option save eachother."

"And what of the thief who you caught sneaking into the palace, Jaffar?" asked the guard.

This was Jaffar? "The Princess has asked me to spare him." said Jaffar. "Out of consideration for her feelings, I shall do so."

"Then how will you prevent a repeat?" asked the guard. "Crime must be punished."

"Simple." said Jaffar. "I'll make the fool join the army. With all the wars we have to fight, he'll probably be killed. And if not, he'll be supporting the empire. By the time he returns, if he survives, I shall have already been married to her. Sharaman was in favor of our union, you know.

"I could easily have him hanged, of course, but I don't see any need for that. He's young and stupid."

"Well, you are also young, at least." said the guard. "Perhaps-"

And then a guard rushed through William and bowed to Jaffar. "Lord Jaffar, there is news."

"What is it?" asked Jaffar.

"King Sharaman is dead." said the guard.

"What?!" said Jaffar, looking genuinely horrified and grief-stricken. "How is that... what happened?"

"He met Alexander in battle. The Olympians marched with him." said the guard. "The pantheons met in battle, and many of the Olympians fell or were sorely wounded. But Alexander drove his spear into the heart of Sharaman, and our armies were routed. Even now, he is coming here to seize Persia for himself."

Jaffar composed himself. "This cannot be allowed.

"Babel must endure and cannot fall victim to the Greeks."

"What will you do?" asked the guard.

Jaffar paused. "As of this moment, I am taking command of Persia until such time as a rightful ruler can be found. We must take steps to rally our remaining armies. Then we will prepare to repulse Alexander's attack."

"Are you sure that is possible?" asked the guard. "I've seen the Macedonian phalanx in action."

"The Greeks under Alexander loathe their Macedonian overlords," said Jaffar. "We need only stalemate him, and their armies shall fall to pieces."

"What of the Gods who have fallen?" asked the guard.

"You cannot kill a god, Captain," said Jaffar with a smile. "Not fully, anyway. They are primal forces of reality and, in time, will take on a new form. This is not the first time that Sharaman has been killed.

"The first time, the Sands of Time were unleashed on the world they transformed Sharaman. What he became was called the Sand King. He was slain by his son, and when the Sands of Time were drawn back, he was restored."

"I didn't know Sharaman had a son." said Captain. "And I've lived here all my life."

"He was heroism incarnate and the subject of a whole cycle of his own. Suffice to say, however, that the Prince is no longer part of our own cycle.

"...I will go to the Princess and arrange for our marriage.

"Given the crisis, it will be necessary to establish my legitimacy beyond all doubt. At least until the King returns."

This vision...

It had a purpose. Was the Princess attempting to cause him to view Jaffar with more complexity? Perhaps as a means of dampening his anger. But to what end? She desired him dead as much as William did. Perhaps because his rage had him focused on someone other than her.

Quickly finding himself at a dead end, he looked up and saw a way to climb up.

Scaling up, he saw the guard he had peered at before. He could easily bypass the man, and he looked almost like a man now. However, the Prince, no, William, disliked the idea of letting even a single one of Jaffar's minions live.

So he moved forward and attacked.

William said nothing, not as he beat down his enemy's guard, not as he cut off their hand, and not as he split their skull. It was easy. And the life force was sent outward to the land once more.

"You see, noble Prince. We have brought you up to the fourth floor." said a feminine voice.

Looking through the portcullis, William saw someone else, clad as for a wedding. At his arm were two of the majestically beautiful temptresses from before. The man with them was an Arab, not Assad, and he wielded a curved sword. He looked at the woman. "How much of the hour remains?"

"Fifteen minutes, noble Prince." said the girl.

"Fifteen minutes... how could the time have passed so?" asked the guard.

"Those who turn aside from their quest are often late in returning." said the girl. "And the Princess tests each in turn. It is her desire to know the nature of every person who ascends this tower. If you are swift, you may still make it to the top. Or to the exit as you may hope for.

"Farewell."

And then they were gone.

William moved forward and set one foot to the switch. The portcullis opened, but there seemed to be a ghostly portcullis present. As though there were two different places lined up perfectly before him. The Arab warrior went off to seek his own glory.

A fair chance.

Hardly.

William turned and walked onward and leaped over a pit. Moving still onward, he found a set of blades chomping with a guard beyond. He'd have to time this right. Setting a hand to his sword, he was about to spring. Then he realized that if he sprung when the blades were together, they'd close as he passed through them.

Waiting a moment more, he made his jump.

For a single instant, he was hurtling forward, then he had cleared the door. His sword was out, and he parried the guard's strikes and thrusts. Moving around, he grabbed the guard by the cloak and thrust him into the blades. They bisected him in an instant, and William moved on without a word.

On he went, and at last, William came to the way out.

It was shut, of course, and a guard stood by. This one wore royal armor and rushed at him. William met him head-on, thrusting, and parrying. Turning aside from the blade, he impaled his enemy through the stomach. Yet the man simply stepped back and attacked again, only to be slashed across the throat. A blow to the shoulder left his enemy without his right arm. Yet he continued to attack, and William nearly lost an eye.

Finally, William caught him in the heart, and he died.

William moved on without a word. The switch was not here.

Scaling up a rise, he made his way along yet another hallway. This one was adorned with many pictures. One of them showed a man, a Prince, doing battle with many enemies. Over time, he became more and more bitter and enraged. Eventually, this rage took on a physical form outside of him, and he was forced to face it.

In mortal battle, they dueled until, at last, the Prince ran the shadow through. Yet as he did, the same wound claimed his life as well.

Coming to the edge of a drop, William scaled down onto the platform below. Here he found yet another blade trap and went through with proper timing. And at last, he found the switch, which he activated without fanfare. Turning back, he bypassed the trap as he usually did.

There was a near call.

But it did not matter.

Felix would be avenged.

Scaling up to the hall, William ran as quickly as he could. Yet as he moved, he suddenly slid to a halt before a mirror. It covered the entire way in and out of the corridor. Raising his word, William brought it down to shatter the damned thing.

Yet the blade rebounded.

At last, William saw his own reflection. One of his eyes had a jagged scar over it. His clothes were worn from use, and his body was soaked in sweat. His expression was enraged, and there was a darkness to his eyes he hadn't seen in the last mirror he'd seen.

Reaching forward, he found that the mirror let his hand through. Yet suddenly, his body was filled with agony, and he drew back. He had no way around and no way back unless he passed through.

Stepping backward, William prepared himself.

Then he rushed forward and leaped through the mirror.

As he passed through it, William felt as though his skeleton was being ripped from his body. As his flesh was burned alive. Coming out the other side, he howled in agony as he landed beyond. His flesh was red with agony. For a moment, William lay there, feeling like he might die at any moment. And he saw the image of a shadow passing through the halls, like him, and yet the inverse.

It didn't matter.

William stood up and limped his way toward the door, now opened and ascended up the stairs.

Felix would be avenged.


End file.
